But I couldn’t help wonder about climate change. How did we go from marveling at the Indian summer, enjoying days of 25 degrees to the sudden fear of raging weather and floods?

By no means am I an expert on the environment. However, something doesn’t feel quite right.

Yet, we’re not fully accepting the idea that it could possibly be the effects of climate change. The media keep talking like this extreme weather is rare, telling us this storm is a “Once in a lifetime” disaster.

I’m pretty sure I’ve already experienced three in the past ten years.

Even Leonardo Di Caprio – a staunch environmentalist – had to mention during his Oscar acceptance speech that the entire Revenant film production had to go as far as the southern tip of South America to find deep, heavy snow.

Or was he just dreaming that up too?

Maybe from now on, one off disasters will end up just the norm. Like the big arse trees in my neighbourhood fall flat on the main road.

Or collapsed roads around the local wharf, deeming it unsafe.

Is it just me? Or is something not quite right?

Were you affected by the storms? Do you believe in climate change?

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On the occasional Sunday, we like to go to our favourite yumcha restaurant and get stuck into noodles and dumplings.

There was one particular outing though, I won’t forget and it’s unfortunately not due to the delicious food.

With the restaurant located on the third and highest floor of the shopping mall, my livewire boys bolted out of the lift and straight to the glass railing.

An elevated ledge underneath gave my boy the leverage, his shoes gave him the grip to start climbing UP and almost over, with about a 50 metre drop.

It all happened in a terrifying nano second.

I leapt and grabbed my 4 year old. Immediately getting down on one knee to be at eye level with him while shaking in shock, tried to explain that he was never EVER to do that again.

I shudder as I type this.

As for the tragic incident with the 4 year old boy falling into the gorilla enclosure at Cincinnati Zoo, there was only so much of the horrible backlash and comments I could stomach.

We could go in circles about what happened, what should’ve happened and what didn’t but should’ve but let’s strip that all aside for a moment and get to why everyone has jumped on this story (and particularly the poor mother):

It seems that over the years, the old adage has caused a lot of pent up angst and judgment and social media gives the permission to spew it all out.

But here’s what I figure with leaving comments on a story such as the Cincinnati Zoo incident.

Validation:

First ask the question: “Am I making a valid point or am I just seeking my own validation?”

If someone feels they need to let the interwebz know that they would never dream of being such a negligent parent and do such a horrendous thing, what purpose does it serve? Was it just to give themselves a virtual pat on the back….until their next parenting eff up?

Judgment is simply a hard-arse reflection of ourselves.

Red-lighting:

For the moments we desperately want to rip into someone for being judgmental: Forget it.

Using the same aggressive tone to red light is just feeding into the perpetual vicious cycle of vitriol. If someone tried to call me up, I’d just feel more entitled to my opinion. No matter how many links you send to back up your argument.

Escape:

If you are caught in the midst of trolls and judgment (and I truly hope you never are), get the hell out. Don’t engage. Don’t rebuke. It’s truly not worth your sanity and dignity.

Shut that account down STAT and wait until it washes over.

And it will.

I hope the 4 year old boy’s parents realise it too.

Ever been in the throes of judgment? Is your child a livewire? Got a favourite saying about judging others?

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He’ll take up every opportunity to do school drop offs with me, which is so great.

While it often goes unnoticed, one morning as we were all strutting down the hill to the school gate, I took a closer look at my beloved’s attire.

It looked very much like this.

Except the t-shirt worn during that particular drop-off was bright orange with “Why So Serious?” sprawled across it. Noice.

It suddenly hit me why some mothers had asked what my husband did for a living but looked surprised when I told him he was a national account manager in financial services.

His approachable, charming demeanor fit his job role. Just the clothes didn’t cut the mustard.

So, you could literally hear the fashion gods laughing (or possibly your truly) when he announced that – for the sake of “client relationship building” – he was “obliged” to attend the Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week.

With back stage passes.

Shut up.

At least he scrubbed up that night. That French Connection slim fit dark blue shirt I got him for Christmas goes places, I tells ya.

In the meantime, I had my own glamourous evening looking after children, eating chicken and corn soup for dinner and watching Netflix in my Targét PJ’s.

And his verdict?

“The models are sooooooo skinny and look so serious!”

“Samantha Harris is gorgeous in real life, though. Most beautiful model there for sure”

“Oh, and here. Thought you might like these…

In obliviousness, he handed over some swag bags filled with fancy snacks, mineral water, hairspray and fancy, shiny USB sticks with the Mercedes Benz logo.

“All my female clients were going gah gah when they got this too. So, I thought maybe you’d want one as well…”

Again. Fashion Gods. Rolling on the floor.

I don’t care. I love my fashion impaired husband to pieces.

For one, it gives me great blogging fodder…and a Mon Purse.

There’s also something very stylishly confident and cool about how he just does not give a rat’s what people think of him.

And that beats any fashion trend.

When do you go for comfort over fashion? Ever been to Australian Fashion Week? What’s your school drop off attire? Ever seen or met a famous model in real life?

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Once in a while, particularly when a plan has been set and motivation is in top gear, life throws a curveball. Or in my case last December, a moonboot.

2016 was to be my year of the marathon. Signed up for the one in Canberra in March, levels of determination were at an all time fist bumping high.

Then came anklegate. 2 days before due to go on holiday, I tripped over an uneven footpath during a lunchtime run with my boss.

Tears, F-Bombs, the works.

Everything about my ankle was ugly. The injury, how it happened and of course, worst of all…the footwear.

Then, recovery tested levels of patience and the threshold of self-belief.

Motivation to get back running is difficult enough to muster without it dissipating when sharp pain strikes.

When physical pain transpires into emotional frustration, there’s a good chance it spirals into hopelessness.

Getting the mind and body to sync after an injury is a tricky affair. The two need to negotiate and of course, it’s then left up to you to make the executive decision.

Mine was forfeiting the Canberra marathon. Boohoo.

But last Sunday, I managed to do a half marathon. Yay.

On reflection, the journey from recovery from moonboot to medal saw little anecdotes and reminders for life in general.

Done is better than good.

The run wasn’t pretty and we shuffled with the other laggers. People were packing up the water stations. I was half an hour slower than my personal best. But hey, that’s okay. It’s done. I crossed the finish line. With ankle intact.

Don’t do it alone.

If a challenge is too overwhelming, find a support network and ask them to share the burden. It doesn’t make you weak.

Running used to be a solo caper. But then there comes a point where getting up at 5:30am on a Sunday to run 18kms solo takes its toll.

There’s no other person I’m more grateful to cross that finishing line with than Brenda. She was my constant.

Admittedly she got a little emo on me at 16 kms but I told her to save the victory tears for the end, where we lost it. Big hugs and bigger affirmations to our friendship.

Changing goal posts is not failure.

I like to have a plan and stick to it. If it goes out of whack, I will beat myself up over the incompetence of it all. And man, that’s energy wasted.

Emotional or physical, life’s full of injuries, is it not? Shit happens. It’s out of your own control. But we can always jump and quickly revert to what is.

Ever been injured? How was recovery? Have friends who get all emo on you?

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2. Sign up to the awesome Digital Parents community ( if you haven’t already done so). DP was created by Brenda Gaddi who happens to be the creator of FYBF. She’s also created 4 gorgeous kidlets. In case you’d like to know. Or maybe not. But we’ll share that info just the same.

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Having read his books as well as participating in his ‘How to be a Freelance Writer’ workshop at the NSW Writers Centre to say I’m a huge fan of Ben’s is an understatement.

So, it was all a bit too much for my fan girl crush when immediately stepping out of the elevator, there he was right in front of me.

“Hi, I’m Ben,” he flashed a pleasant, warm smile, shaking my hand.

“Hi, I’m Ben…” I found myself echoing.

Hi, I’m Ben??!

What the?

“Grace! I mean, my name’s Grace!”

For someone who likes to think she’s – for the most part – socially capable (I don’t have parsley between my teeth, right?) and has managed many public speaking engagements for up to audiences of 200 plus, I was horrified.

Boom, crash…starstruck!

Desperately trying to salvage my dignity, I started rambling about how I loved attending his workshop (swoon).

“Oh yes, I thought you looked familiar!”

Ben was so polite and sweet to ignore my stupid blunder.

Back in the all clear zone and hopefully no longer suspected that I was a complete weirdo, I added that, thanks to him and the workshop, I had my first article published.

Again, he was extremely gracious (swoon, swoon) and said how much he loved helping people become writers.

Soon after he proceeded to introduce me to his friend.

“This is Grace. She’s a writer”

Benjamin Law just introduced me as a writer. Wow. Could this Tuesday get ANY better?

And it did.

For all the guffaws and the amount of swooning fit for a herd of One Direction fans, Benjamin Law indulged me in a photo. How perfect is that one eyebrow raise? (Swoon, swoon, swoon).

Best blah Tuesday night. Ever.

Are you a Benjamin Law fan? Ever been starstruck? Ever introduced yourself as the person who just introduced themselves to you? Am I the only idiot out there who masters in social faux pas?

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These days, Thursday roll around and the struggle to write for #FYBF is real.

Not due to lack of stories or stupid random thoughts in my head (they happen a mile a minute…and not always in a good way).

But it’s the day I’m a working duck, head down bum up for a solid 7 hours, breaking occasionally for a toilet break or to scoff down a gourmet lunch of 40 second quick cup brown rice and canned tuna.

It’s a glamorous life.

Tonight was not much different.

Driving to get home, Sydney traffic always beats me down and after hearing my favourite Prince (RIP) song on constant loop, what should only be a 30 minute trip, I finally get home over an hour later.

A quick hello to the family and it’s straight to the kitchen to grill some lamb chops and snags for dinner. Zap some (more) rice in the microwave while steaming some frozen veggies (third night in a row).

Just as I’m starting to wonder what it’s all for. Am I doing it all right? Which part am I getting wrong?

My 6 year old tells me to shut my eyes.

“I have a surprise. Keep them closed. Keep them closed. Okay, now open…”

Titled: “Mama with lots of love hearts”

Impressed how accurately he depicted the skin tone as well as the matching coloured lips and dress, there was a sense of relief.

Wondering if I’m getting it right will be never ending. That remains unchanged. Undoubtedly, intensify.

I’ll still bark at them to “get shoes on”, scream at them to “stop playing Ninjas on the couch.” Threats to switch off Ninjago will always be futile.

But for my son, the love hearts are still there.

And for that belief to be expressed on scrunched up paper then handed to me for proof, I think we’re doing okay.

For mums, grandmas, aunts, carers, all mum figures out there, we’re all doing okay. Hope you have lots of love hearts surrounding you this Sunday.

Happy Mother’s Day.

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In a panic, I frantically searched all over the house. I had heard stories of this happening, sometimes with a happy ending. I was dreading that mine wouldn’t.

Mr Surfer even looked under the house just in case my platinum band had fallen through the cracks of our corridor.

Nothing.

Misgivings that the ring was perhaps stolen would creep into my mind but I pushed them aside. At the end of the day, it was my fault for not taking better care and keeping it safe.

While I hated myself for losing something so precious, my husband was extremely calm.

“Ring gone but marriage intact,” he’d remind me.

Intact yes but gee, it’s hard work. Wouldn’t you agree?

Cleaning kitchens, bath and dinner duties and morning routines. And the sleep deprivation! Sleeeeeep! Never overrated!

All of this call for efficient tag teaming, making sure no one drops the ball but it’s all just treading water. Trying to stay afloat in the rocky waters of parenting and commitment.

Whatever happened to romance? No time for dat.

Despite recovering from an exhausting week, Mr Surfer insisted we go out on a dinner date. Kids were at Grandma’s and we had a rare night to ourselves. Secretly, I just wanted to get in my PJ’s and curl up with a book.

But scrub up I did. It didn’t matter that we were over 45 minutes late for our limited 2 hour seating at a very fancy shamancy Japanese fusion restaurant at The Rocks.

We were seated at our table and just as I was beginning to feel like we were back to our early days of courting, my husband handed over a little box and an envelope. Then, he excused himself from the table.

Just as I opened the box, the waitress dropped by and squealed. She lunged over giving me a big hug.

“No, no! We’re already married!” I was laughing and crying, trying to explain the awkward situation.

Accompanying the ring came a card and letter with some of the most beautiful words I’ve ever read.

By the time he returned to the table, I was bawling.

Relationship recalibration.

A reminder to be grateful for one another because anyone can play tag.

Besides, we can catch up on our sleep when we’re old.

It’s definitely nice to have my ring back. It’s even nicer to rekindle the romance.

Ever lost your wedding ring or an important, sentimental piece of jewellery?

What do you do to rekindle the romance?

Is sleep overrated or not?

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When people ask how we found ourselves in Australia, the story always sounds too good to be true.

My parents had met and befriended an Australian diplomat while he was on a posting in Jakarta.

In our plans to move to the States, Dad was in the process of submitting our Green Card application.

But our Australian friend had a much better idea – what about migrating to Canberra, Australia instead?

Offering his help to find employment for my parents upon arrival, it was a no brainer. And there it was – off we trotted to Australia, the land of plenty and opportunity.

When so many other migrants and refugees hold life risking stories and unfathomable hardship in their journey to Australia, we were extremely lucky. No, randomly blessed.

Our Australian friend set a home for us. As he promised, he found jobs for my parents. He took it on as his responsibility to enroll my brothers and I to reputable public schools.

He taught me English. He helped me figure out how to use a knife and fork.

Stuff that most Australian kids take for granted but as migrants, my parents were still trying to figure out how to fit in, they themselves had no clue about the intricacies of Western etiquette and culture.

This year, my family and I just celebrate our 40 year anniversary of moving to Australia. On a rare family gathering a couple of months ago, we sat around the kitchen table, reflecting on those early days, comparing them to where we are today – happy, successful, safe.

As it works out, this year is also one of commiseration. Our dear family friend, who selflessly provided so much for us, passed away last Friday morning.

My family will be reunited again today for his funeral.

I’ve been asked to speak on behalf of my parents, my brothers and our respective families. I’ve prepared a speech and I hope my words properly convey our gratitude. I hope I adequately express how indebted we all feel.

Our lives could’ve been so very different, if it wasn’t for him.

Ever felt randomly blessed? Who or what have you been indebted to?

1. Follow With Some Grace.

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Trying to think of how to start writing about our big overseas holiday, it’s probably best to begin when it didn’t.

In the marathon training zone, my boss and I went for a run during a lunch break. How can pounding the pavement jeopardise a holiday? Two days prior to departure, no less.

It couldn’t…if you weren’t me.

Almost at the end, only 200 metres away from the office I tripped on the edge of an uneven footpath which happened to be right in front of the concrete stairs where I tumbled and crashed.

The intense pain so agonizing that paralysed tears. Blood shooting to the head as adrenalin kicked in.

Keep calm and drop F-Bombs.

The unforgettable scene of my boss placing my head on her lap, wiping the sweat off my forehead as random neighbours came outside with a bottle of water and sympathy.

The next 24 hours consisted of driving with a packet of frozen peas on the injured foot that swiftly turned to cankle. Searching for a doctor who was available to determine how bad the situ was.

GP was certain it was broken. I was determined it wasn’t.

I finally found a specialist – yay. Hobbled over to discover that his office was on the second floor in a building where the elevator wasn’t working – boo.

The Foot Gods were laughing their arses off.

They were on the floor in hysterics as I stumbled down two flights to get x-rays. Then climb back up with the images.

Diagnosis? No fracture but high ankle sprain.

Still okay to go to Japan, right?

Not without a crutch and moon boot.

Oh.

In less than 48 hours, I went from the excitement and anticipation of going on a month long holiday to two of my favourite places in the world to the crashing disappointment that nope. I wasn’t going anywhere. Holiday cancelled.

And the Canberra marathon came and went last weekend without running participant #490. Boo.

The one takeaway from all of this?

Nothing is certain in life but death, taxes and travel insurance. Always, ALWAYS get some #notsponsored #advicefromaklutz

Ever cancelled a holiday due to an act of klutz? Ever had cankles? Do you get travel insurance?

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Reading it, I started reassessing my sales job. Sure, it got me back into the work force and into familiar territory.

But sometimes familiar doesn’t cut it.

With every day of mundane driving around Sydney meeting clients, I was remotely further from what I wanted to do.

The crazy thing? I’m not sure what that actually is.

Write a book? Start a small business?

You know how they say once you let go of what’s holding you back, some good takes its place?

Well, something to that effect.

I came back to Sydney, submitted my resignation and was decidedly happy to have some free rein. Then came a new opportunity that was frighteningly out of my comfort zone.

While what I do now undoubtedly feels closer to what I want to do in life, it hasn’t made it any less challenging.

Because trying anything new exposes yourself to mistakes and oversight. And man, I’ve made my fair share these past weeks.

I like to think that it was serendipity that led the kids and I to the movies last Sunday.

Even if I were to ignore the mumbo jumbo of Big Magic, the Zootopia message shook me back in place: mistakes are how we learn.

It would be committing an injustice if I gave up now.

I may, or may not have Shakira’s “Try Everything” on rotate in the car.

So, I’ll keep going, dammit. Not with the hope it’ll get easier but that things will get interesting.

Have you read Big Magic? Have you seen Zootopia? Did you know that Shakira specifically requested wider hips for her animated character, Gazelle?

1. Follow With Some Grace.

2. Sign up to the awesome Digital Parents community ( if you haven’t already done so). DP was created by Brenda Gaddi who happens to be the creator of FYBF. She’s also created 4 gorgeous kidlets. In case you’d like to know. Or maybe not. But we’ll share that info just the same.

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About Me…

Indonesian-born, Grace spent extensive time living and working overseas, primarily in Japan. She now resides in Sydney where she is mum to identical twin boys and wife to an avid surfer. While she has happily replaced office life with motherhood, Grace has discovered that a 10 year career in corporate sales and being fluent in 3 languages is futile when dealing with toddler tantrums and singing “The Wheels On The Bus”